


buried deep within

by Fluoradine



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Meetings, Forgiveness, Genyatta Zine Vol. 2, Growth, Help, M/M, Oni Genji Shimada, Travel, World Travel, i have no idea what to tag this with please bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 17:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14835671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluoradine/pseuds/Fluoradine
Summary: An Omnic monk and an Oni have no business travelling together - it's a companionship Genji isn't exactly pleased to have as they leave Nepal for the wild together. But, as it turns out, there's no one better to teach him about humanity, even if neither of them are human themselves.





	buried deep within

**Author's Note:**

> this was my contribution to this year's genyatta zine! - thank you so much to volf and steph for organizing it so well!! kuuttidraws did an amazing drawing of one of the scenes - check it out here! (https://goo.gl/ZiyxYG) - and you can see all the other contributions if you buy the zine! preorders are open until the 21st on their blog, so please check it out and enjoy!

No two spirits ever meet by accident. Any two paths that intertwined were pushed together by forces of the world unknown. An Oni and a mortal travelling the same road seemed random, but it was meant to happen. After all, the spirit world was often meddling with worlds beyond their own. Perhaps it was a sign to the Oni; a good luck sign, or a warning that something was about to change. 

 

To Genji, it didn’t matter why he’d met Tekhartha Zenyatta: just where they were going. Cluttered skies and large cities were long behind them after two weeks of walking deeper into the clutches of the wild, caught underneath the thick clouds of the pre-monsoon season. The seasonal darkness made Genji feel welcome. After spending so much time in the spirit world, the ghostly fog and claw-branched trees gave him all the cold comforts of home. 

 

“Where are we going?” he asked Zenyatta, slowing down to look back at his companion. This wasn’t the kind of person Genji had assumed would need a demon’s company: an excommunicated monk with signs of wear all over his Omnic frame, interested only in travel and the possibility of leaving the past far behind. 

 

“I’m not sure.” Zenyatta answered. “I suppose we’ll follow this path for a while, and when we lose track of it, we can find another.”

 

“So you’re leading me nowhere.” 

 

“Not exactly, no. It’s been a while since I connected to nature’s simple pleasures, and a long time since I had anyone to do it with.” Zenyatta said. A low branch hung in his way, and he reached to run his metal fingers along the grooves in the bark. He sighed, a sound of tuned static that Genji had never heard before. 

 

“Seeing the world at its barest seems to connect me to my humanity. Without city lights and grey air, there’s so much more to see.” Zenyatta continued, moving the branch out of the way. 

 

Genji frowned. “Humanity?” 

 

“You do know what I mean, right?” Genji did, but he’d only heard the term used to describe everything he wasn’t. Someone with humanity was a kind mortal, never seeing beyond the demon gate and free of pain and violence. Genji had never even considered attributing humanity to someone with a spirit like his, or even a machine like Zenyatta. 

 

Zenyatta hummed with concern when Genji shook his head. “I don’t mean to be a human. You don’t have to be human to appreciate kindness, nor to understand yourself or mercy. To show compassion, too, and even love. Travelling connects me to humanity. Perhaps it could connect you to yours, as well.”

 

“You must be mistaken,” Genji scorned. “There’s no way I’d be able to.” He knew his nature well—a demon was a creature of destruction, not growth. He’d spent centuries tormenting humans and attracting fear, creating grief and chaos in the darkest of places. After all of that, he couldn’t possibly change. The sun would sooner spin backwards.

 

“Perhaps I might be.” Zenyatta shrugged. He went forward again, turning his shrug into a certain nod as he passed Genji. “But perhaps I’m not.”

 

 

Often, the most natural things lead to the strangest circumstances. The monsoon started just after Genji and Zenyatta left the forest, and it flooded so high that even Zenyatta found it hard to float. It had to be luck that lead them into a hidden village, its citizens all well-prepared for the rain, and who welcomed them both with generous kindness. 

 

But not a single one of them seemed to care that Genji was a demon. It was far from the reaction he expected. In his experience, mortals weren’t fond of demons. He was used to being cursed at, having beans thrown at his horns, or being threatened with knives, all fruitless actions intended to conceal their fear of the sudden, and unexpected doom he brought. 

 

“Do you want to cover your belongings, sir?”

 

The child was offering Genji a coat. It was already damp with rain, made of the same white wool and dyed sheepskin that had been given to Zenyatta yesterday. Zenyatta held the frays over his orbs of harmony as him and Genji looked from the dry porch to their soaked visitor. 

 

“Leave him be, Riju.” a woman said, rushing up to her child. She apologized and ushered him off, but his curious eyes followed Genji from behind her umbrella, ogling at the red marks on his forehead like they were rubies.

 

“Are they unsuspecting?” Genji asked Zenyatta, having to speak up over the sound of the rain. It echoed off the metal roof above them like nails tapping a rhythm, hard and present, yet calm. 

 

“They know you aren’t like them,” Zenyatta said. “But you don’t look like their definition of a demon. There isn’t really any reason for them to fear you.”

 

“But I’m not at least threatening?” Genji asked. “I assumed all humans were scared of what they don’t know.”

 

“Perhaps you may strike fear into weaker hearts. But we’re just two travellers here,” Zenyatta said, draping his coat around his midsection where a knot of thin, red wires lay exposed. “And two travellers are, always, two travellers, to be treated with the same hospitality they’d give to a face like their own.”

 

Genji heard a shout, and looked to see the child with the coat a few houses away. The child waved, a meek smile on his face that only caused Genji confusion, yet proved Zenyatta’s point. The civilians were kind only for the sake of being kind. 

 

“An impartial act of kindness takes such little effort,” Zenyatta said, waving back to the child. “Without it, we would’ve drowned by now. Or, at the least, gotten a little damp.”

 

Genji scoffed, knowing that Zenyatta’s spirit was smirking at him. He didn’t want the Omnic to think that he understood what kindness was after just once incident. But the rain was falling harder now, and Genji found his mind and ears wandering to the sound. It was only water, the same thing he’d been walking under for days. What made it so captivating in this moment?

 

Gingerly, Genji lifted his hand. Within moments he felt the water rushing over his talons like a stream over rocks. It was cold, the droplets thin and misty, not quite phasing through him but not soaking him, either. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but, as Genji realized, it was welcome. 

 

 

The road to nowhere didn’t have a clear-cut route. The path two unlikely companions took was always filled with twists and turns, this one taking Zenyatta and Genji all the way into the magnificent mountains within just a few months of leaving the village. The weather became frigid as autumn swept in, cooling even further as winter started to settle like snow over the low mountain valley. 

 

Now that the clouds were gone, it was much easier to see the stars. Zenyatta had been reciting their patterns and names night after night, and as Genji sat in front of the frozen pond in the grassy valley, he found himself remembering more than a few. Each star was reflected in the clear ice as if actually trapped beneath it, twinkling up at him like iridescent fish, or winking, mischievous demon eyes. 

 

Genji scratched his talons into the ice, connecting constellations together. Lacerta—The Lizard, he remembered. And beside it, Andromeda—Cassiopeia not far away. How strange that so much of the mortal world existed off of the earth itself. Most of his time in it was spent looking down at carnage. Had Zenyatta not showed him the world above, he might’ve never looked up. 

 

Although the stars were wonderful, they were only a background against Genji’s own reflection. As his hands traced the stars, his eyes traced his facial features; the sickly red and endless black, the sword-sharpness of his jaw and the dagger-shaped fangs in his mouth—all parts he knew he had, but had never bothered to look closely at.

 

There was a reason why he didn’t focus in on these kinds of things. No demon ever did. When he was in the mortal world, he was only there to terrorize humans and spill whatever blood he saw fit, fulfilling his purpose. Zenyatta had taken him out of that cold comfort and given him the time to look around. If he had any sense at all, Genji would have slit his wires and left weeks ago, before he could see his reflection this clearly.

 

But something was keeping him from taking the steps away. His eyes continued to stare at his hellish face against the backdrop of space, wondering if he would prefer seeking violence to this. It would feel more natural, of course, he answered himself. But something about the way Zenyatta treated him made him wonder if seeking violence was really all he was meant for. 

 

Perhaps he was meant for more. Zenyatta certainly believed in him, no matter how hard Genji protested. When given the option to look up, he didn’t keep his nose in the dirt - perhaps, if given the chance to grow, instead of constantly destroying, he would become someone new. 

 

_I want to know myself,_ Genji thought, feeling the change start like it was physical. He looked back to the ice, past his face and into the stars. And if it’s Zenyatta who will help me, then I want to stay. 

 

 

Light travelled fast. Genji felt like he’d blinked in the valley and opened his eyes weeks later just in front of a deep green jungle. He was standing next to Zenyatta, close enough to see a pattern of scratches on his faceplate, but not enough to hear the whirr of his internal fans as they buzzed on. Spring sunlight shone over the distant mountains, shedding an early morning light onto the still body of a bird, lying lifeless on top of a small rock. 

 

“It’s dead,” Genji said with a grimace.

 

Zenyatta peered down at it. “I believe it is still breathing,” he hummed. “But it has a broken wing.”

 

Genji looked closer. It was nothing but a little quail, with yes, a chest slowly rising and falling, and a speckled, bent left wing. As he reached down to check for blood, its eyes darted to him, but chirped in pain as it thrashed in an attempt to fly away. 

 

“I couldn’t help it get back on its feet, could I?” Genji asked. 

 

He couldn’t show it, but Genji could tell Zenyatta was surprised. “You certainly could,” he nodded, though skeptically. “I’ll meet up with you once we’re inside.”

 

Zenyatta floated off into the jungle behind its trees, leaving Genji alone with the bird. How sensitive to suffering he’d become already. Without its wing, the poor bird couldn’t do the one thing it was meant to do. It would be useless, in agony until it died from the pain, left without a purpose to fulfill. It would be more merciful to kill it rather than trying to save what couldn’t be salvaged.

Genji reached for his sword, but stopped before his talons could even scratch the handle. He could feel conflict, something inside disagreeing with his demon’s instincts. A silent voice talked to him, speaking in the same buzz of Zenyatta’s tone. To think I’d thought you’d learned, it chided. Look closer. There’s something worth saving, even if it is buried deep within.

 

Genji frowned. He didn’t understand. The bird was at war with itself, unable to accept its condition and only giving itself more pain by trying to fly. Wouldn’t it be kind to put it out of its misery? That was what a good, human spirit would do, wasn’t it? 

 

But no - he was wrong. No death, no matter how merciful it was, would give the bird peace. There was no kindness in a blade, just as there was no understanding in suffering. If he was patient enough to calm the bird down and show it some care, it might survive. If he showed it compassion, it might have the strength to grow again. 

 

The cloud over Genji’s mind cleared as he realized what he’d learned. Zenyatta had been teaching him humanity all along. He’d seen past his face and shared compassion and despite his doubt, Zenyatta had gotten through to him. Genji could understand humanity. He already did. 

 

The bird had stopped thrashing, and Genji looked down at it now. “Stay calm. You don’t want to hurt yourself again,” he reassured, reaching a hand down to brush its feathers. It would survive, despite its original protests. It would grow, just as he had. 

 

Genji looked at the jungle as the bird chirped quietly. Somewhere inside, Zenyatta was waiting for him. He didn’t know what would happen when he took the steps to join him, but he’d already come all this way. There was no reason to turn away. 

 

 

As Genji had learned, few things were certain in the mortal world. Yet the changing of the seasons was always promised. It had almost been a full year since he’d met Zenyatta in the rainy season, and summer had found him as something different. He was still an Oni, with the same hellish face and misty body, but his spirit had changed after everything Zenyatta had done for him. 

 

And for that, he deserved a demon’s gratitude. 

 

Genji looked down at the bottom of a waterfall as he stood next to Zenyatta. Slow-moving water surged down a cascade of rocks into a stream, spilling out over the sandy bottom, and becoming calm once again. Two familiar reflections looked up at Genji from it, neither human in appearance, but more human in spirit than anyone he’d ever known. 

 

“I wanted to thank you, Zenyatta,” Genji began, taking his sword out of its hilt. He knew it was impossible to repay Zenyatta for all the compassion he’d shown him, but the least he could do was try. 

 

“Thank me for what?” Zenyatta asked, looking up from the stream. 

 

“For proving me wrong,” Genji said. He held the sword in both hands like it was made of glass. “You told me humanity could be found in anyone, despite their appearance. You said they could show kindness, understand themselves and be merciful, no matter their nature. Naturally, I didn’t believe you, but you made me see otherwise.”

 

“And how did I do that?” Zenyatta asked.

 

“You cared about me.” Genji took a shaky breath for the first time in his life. “You saw past my doubt, and taught me without saying a word. I normally would hate to admit it, but you were right. Travelling with you has connected me to my humanity.”

 

Zenyatta didn’t say anything. The waterfall continued to rush, the sound like heavy rain falling onto metal and talons scraping over ice. “Here,” Genji said, presenting the sword to Zenyatta. “Take it as a gift. I thought I would need it again eventually, but now, I don’t see why I should keep it.”

 

Genji bowed his head, feeling a nervous anticipation—was he doing too much? Did Zenyatta not believe that he’d changed? Was it too much, too soon?

“Please, there is no need to thank me,” Zenyatta finally said, his blue lights suddenly blinking to a brighter shade. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ll have any need for a sword, either. But I know how much this means to you.”

 

Genji nodded, head still bowed in unfamiliar humbleness. Zenyatta reached his hand forward and touched Genji’s hand. Cold metal met icy smoke, and Genji’s spirit froze. 

 

“I never doubted your humanity,” Zenyatta said. “It only needed the time to show itself, and for you to understand it was there. Though you might’ve believed you were only darkness, I could see the light. And it was worth caring for.”

 

Gently, Zenyatta took the sword and leant down to the water. Genji watched as he placed the blade into the stream and let go, old bloodstains washing off in the clean liquid as it sunk, flowing further and further away until he could no longer see it. His past was truly gone now. All that existed was his future, one that surely had Zenyatta in it for at least another season. 

 

“I know I might never be able to care for you back,” Genji said, bowing even deeper to his companion—no, his friend. Zenyatta was his first true friend. “But please let me travel further with you. I don’t think I can make sense of everything on my own.”

 

Zenyatta nodded, reaching his hand out to Genji. “I would love it if you did. And there will be more than enough time for you to do both.”


End file.
